Master's Pet
by RosannaLouise
Summary: What if, during the 18 months that the Master was waiting for the doctor to come back from the year 100 trillion, the Master hadn't met lucy, but someone else... What if he had met Harry Potter. SLight crossover so far.
1. The Beginning, Meeting & Deception

_Bwa ha ha ha, I'm Back! Excited? You should be , I am once again inspired to write and chose out of my (many) unfinished stories this one to continue during the summer now that I have finished this year at Uni. There is a lot of familiar content here as I have re-written what was the first 2 chapters to make this longer one as well as adding in some completely new stuff. I've decided that this will be non-chronological somewhat longer chapters of one-shots, AND, as a bonus and for being so wonderful and patient with me that the first three people to prompt me feasible things (I.e: Harry meeting the Doctor, e.t.c) will have those prompts featured in the next chapter. More exciting still is that the next chapter should be up within a fornight! Once again thank you so much for being patient with me guys._

_Much Love, Rosanna._

/

It was when Harry Potter was very young that he discovered he was different. It wasn't that he looked any different, besides being a particularly cute child; his bright green eyes large in his face, it was a difference in the way that he saw things. His brain worked on what he assumed to be a higher level than those around him, at the age of five he already had a far greater understanding of the principles that governed the world around him than his relatives, granted this perhaps wasn't so great an achievement considering the average intelligence amongst his family. There was a flip-side to this however; though complex mathematical and scientific concepts seemed simple to him, even perhaps _too_ simple, Harry struggled almost constantly with a language which appeared to him to be ugly and clunky with unpleasant sounding verbs and non-descriptive adjectives. In his search for understanding he learnt five additional languages to try to find one that suited him better. Japanese came closest and Harry found immense enjoyment in the fact that the language essentially had three scripts, learning that particular language kept him occupied for almost a month, a record for the ever-bored youth.

Despite his intelligence Harry could still be classed as a regular, if extraordinarily intelligent human being. However, in addition to his remarkable processing and learning abilities he had a rather more unusual talent. Ever since Harry could remember he just _knew_ things, he knew without being asked what would scare people, what would make them happy, angry, scared. He knew when it would rain or snow. He learnt to interpret these, '_knowings,' _as he called them so that he was able to read his relatives emotions. He knew when his uncle was in a bad mood or his aunt a good one. That's not to say he knew everything, oh no, he was not omnipotent but every once in a while Harry would get a feeling, that something was going to happen or that he should be doing something at that moment and he would just _know_.

All this knowing left a mess in his head sometimes, left the piles of memories twisted and the stacks of knowledge teetering, but it was worth the mild headaches to be able to know instinctively when to dodge his Uncle and Aunt and, when he was older, to know exactly what to threaten to get them to cooperate. For his Aunt it was Social Services, 'surely it's not _normal_ to keep a child in a cupboard now, is it Auntie?' For his Uncle it was his employer, 'and Uncle Vernon told me to call to say he'd be late of he'd beat me 'till I could do it better Mr Boss, Sir.'

It was Harry's knowing that enabled him to deal with the bullies that had plagued him for his younger years He had known that what he had done to Piers would make the kids fear him, even hate him, just like he had known that it would buy him respect and a small amount of freedom to be left alone by the inane prattling of his peers.

Now everyone on Privet Drive knew you didn't mess with the, 'strange Potter boy,' as Harry was referred to by the myriad of residents on Privet Drive. Not after the incident with Piers Polkiss. Piers had been a friend of Harry's cousin Dudley, an unpleasant rat-like boy who seemed to take a large amount of pleasure with tormenting other children in the area. He, along with Dudley and several other disagreeable children would gang up and steal sweets or money from the other children, run them out of the playgrounds and generally just act like the miscreants they would undoubtedly grow up to be.

Harry knew that Dudley would keep his friends away from them, steering them towards other targets. Dudley would never tell them why, but he wouldn't allow them near Harry, although he seemed to bear no particular fondness for him. Whenever asked why he was to be left alone Dudley would turn remarkably pale and chalky and beads of sweat would roll down his piggy face but he remained remarkably tight lipped other than to comment on the, 'freakishness,' of the boy, he used the word like it was something he himself had been told but he said it with significant conviction. So Harry Potter remained unbullied for some time.

Until the day when Piers decided to ignore Dudley's warning about his cousin and corner him after school in the corner of the playground behind the large bins that waste food was left in by the school kitchens. He had trapped Harry there in the hopes of getting a little money or perhaps some food off of him. After all, Harry was a small boy, and Piers himself rather tall for his age.

Harry had allowed himself to be cornered with a muted gleam to his eyes and a sly smile.

Nobody knew quite what had happened, and of course nothing could be proven, but the children could not be persuaded that Potter had not had something to do with the mysterious, sudden illness of Piers Polkiss. Doctors were baffled by his sudden and unexplainable muteness had chalked it down to simply a random, late-onset mutation of genetics. One of the braver children who had confronted Harry had been told quite calmly that he had simply demonstrated to Piers the _true_ meaning of the word, 'Freak.'

Although his undeniable strangeness in both mind and looks had acted to his detriment when he was younger as Harry grew older and his understanding of the world increased, he learnt to his unusual beauty to his advantage. After all such an ethereal looking child couldn't possibly do all those horrible things that people said, could he? Even his aunt couldn't deny that Harry Potter was a beautiful child, having inherited her sister's finer features and vibrant eyes along with the thick black hair and masculine jaw of his father.

Petunia had no beauty herself, being in possession of a distastefully horse-like face and a neck of unfortunate proportion similar to that of a giraffe. Nor did she have any discernable talents, other than one for gossip and an uncanny ability for managing to keep her nose firmly mired in the business of others, but she prided herself on keeping a _normal_ household and that boy was anything but normal. Even as she thought this the boy looked up from his spot in the garden and directly into her eyes as if he had known exactly what she had been thinking. Sometimes Petunia felt like he did know, and it scared her more than she'd care to admit.

It didn't scare her as much as what was occurring right now, as even through the net curtains and from the distance Petunia could quite clearly see what her nephew was doing at that precise moment in time. Sounds from the boy drifted in through the slightly ajar backdoor as Harry Potter spoke in the sibilant hisses of the snake tongue to the small, green snake nestled in his hands. Petunia could only think of what the neighbours would say.

/

It can be concluded therefore that Harry had an undeniable strangeness, an odd sort of inhuman beauty, and an uncanny ability to know things that he shouldn't. As harry grew these traits only became more pronounced. In Harry's opinion though these weren't negative characteristics, quite to the contrary it was his strange ability of _knowing_ that lead him to be sitting at three o'clock in the morning, quite an unsociable hour, in the children's playground watching as a strange blue police materialised from thin air.

/

The Master stepped out of The Doctor's TARDIS (a type 40, honestly it was so _Doctor_, riding around in a veritable antique) with a sense of malicious jubilance. He had finally shed the repulsive human body he had worn for so long, he had escaped The Doctor, in his very own TARDIS no less, and he was on the other timelord's precious Earth, which he would so enjoy burning to the ground just to see the look on the waifish, bambi face this regeneration seemed to sport. His jubilation was only slightly dampened by the knowledge that he could only travel between the here and now (and it was The Doctor's bad luck that he had allowed him 18 months leeway, no matter how unintentional, he _knew_ what The Master could achieve in that time,) and the year 100 trillion. 'Although,' he thought gleefully to himself, 'it would be a while before his Doctor, the Girlie and the Freak came, oh what fun he could have.

That thought blithely settled into his head, augmenting the pounding of the Drums and setting his blood boiling, thoroughly pleased by his own musings, The Master looked around himself to see where the (damned unreliable) TARDIS had landed him. It was with an expression of disgust and with a curled lip that he noticed he had landed in the middle of a park in what appeared to be suburban Britain.

"Wonderful," the Master noted with no small amount of sarcasm. Straight, neat lines of houses with perfectly ordered lawns and tamed rosebushes aligned methodically and with militaristic precision rose out of the soft darkness, thrown into dim relief by the orangey, flickering light of the lampposts. All neat, all tidy… _so dreary_. The Master craved chaos and disorder this place was repugnant to him. He sneered at the street, (Privet Drive, a sign helpfully provided) The Master despised this place merely on principle but soon he thought, gleefully, this pathetic little backwater planet and all its primitive mud-monkeys would have a new master.

"Disgustingly suburban, isn't it?" Twirling quickly The Master was surprised to see the speaker, a young boy – no more than 14, who he hadn't noticed before, which was odd in itself, even more odd was the fact that the boy didn't seemed to have batted an eyelid at his appearance. He was sitting on a swing seemingly unperturbed by the fact that a large blue police box had just materialised out of nowhere in the middle of the night. Then again, he did seem to have a strange air about him that didn't seem quite human. He had gravity defying black hair (it even looked to rival the current Doctor's in its sheer stubbornness at sticking upright) and an aristocratic looking, but thin face, with high, sculpted cheekbones, a strong jaw and an aquiline nose. Perhaps the most startling thing about his appearance was the bright, verdant green eyes, which seemed to glow with knowledge and power. They were compelling and, The Master had to admit, he could imagine this boy going far in life just by batting his thick eyelashes a few times. The Master was mildly interested.

Ostensibly amused, the boy looked pointedly towards the TARDIS before turning his penetrative gaze to the Master, "I take it you're not from around _here_," he gestured to the ground before flicking his hand negligently at the sky.

Smiling indulgently at the boy The Master cocked his head to the side, "I could tell you if in knew where _here_ is exactly."

The boy unbothered, obviously realising that when one materialised in the middle of the night it would be unlikely that they would know where exactly they landed simply answered, "Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Earth… the Milky Way?" His gaze once again turned disdainful, his lip curling slightly as he pointed one pale digit at one of the identical houses (Number 4, The Master noted) this one seemed even neater than all the others in the vicinity. "My Aunt, Uncle and useless, imbecilic moron of a cousin all live there. Unfortunately I do also," Sneering lightly in a manner The Master was quite proud off, "inadequate, pitiful wastes of oxygen that they are. Sometimes I'm surprised they have enough brain cells between them to stand upright and communicate in something other than grunts."

Apparently realising that he had been carrying quite the monologue the boy flushed lightly and stopped talking as the Mater let out a bark of laughter which was, admittedly, less than sane sounding. The boy was mildly amusing and there seemed to be something almost, otherworldly about him perhaps, The Master could keep him. The drums seemed to beat just a little louder at that thought.

The boy stood and walked closer to him and as he approached the Master could feel a buzzing from the surface of his skin. How interesting. The boy's emerald eyes looked at him, "I can help you with what you want…Master."

The Master considered the boy, the strange, strange boy with the electric hum on his skin and the glowing eyes and silently held out his hand in invitation smiling when the boy immediately slid his much smaller hand into his gracing him with a beatific smile.

"Harry Potter," he introduced as the Master pulled him into the TARDIS.

/

The Master knew that in order to exact his plans on earth he needed to fashion himself an identity, a human identity. He decided to call himself Harold Saxon, Harry for short, as a somewhat mocking tribute to the strange boy he had picked up. Speaking of the boy, he had been extraordinarily helpful both as a source of knowledge about the current state of earth and as a part of his new identity. In fact, he showed what should have been an alarming ability to manipulate people his to his own ends. Of course the Master didn't find this alarming at all given his propensity to try to murder his once greatest friend and his own somewhat questionable sanity. Given this, it seemed only natural to have him pose as Harold Saxon's son. The boy had no qualms with lying to an entire country and he added some much needed dimension to poor, widowed Harold Saxon's life story. He was also unquestionably vital in drawing the smothering, maternal types towards Harold's campaign for prime minister (he got some particularly keen letters to the campaign headquarters from a Molly Weasley, who he had to personally reply to in order to assure her that his _darling_ son was quite happy.)

The Master was drawn back from his musings by the murmur of the crowd at his _son's _words.

"Ever since my mother died, my father has been everything to me. He has been nurturer and protector, my teacher and my parent; I know in my heart that if he were elected he would love this country as he has me for all these years." It was quite the touching assertion, the boy, _Harry_, had somehow managed to force a few crystalline tears to catch in his thick lashes as he spoke of his, 'mother,' it was a masterful performance and in response the Master could practically sense the women in the crowd melting. Even the master might feel a tingle of empathy, though he'd sooner dye his hair blond than admit it, but was not certain that he was actually capable of such identification.

He knew though, thanks in part to the boy's bizarre foresight, if it could be called that, that the Doctor would be arriving in a scarce few months. It was necessary to take the final push needed in the election to force his dominance into Downing Street and from there the world. His work on the Arc Angel project wasn't enough but the tragic sob story that he and the b- _Harry _had constructed it seemed would be enough to swing the votes he couldn't get by himself. The boy was in fact so talented in manipulation that the Master had debated for some time with teaching him his own unique brand of hypnotic mind domination. He wasn't certain that the boy even had the aptitude but considering his unnaturalness he may be able to learn which would tremendously boost his use. As a mouthpiece and the softer face of his prime ministerial campaign it would be hugely beneficial if he could broadcast a low level of hypnosis across the crowd by gaze alone as the Master was himself able to do.

The Master became peripherally aware of the crowd moving around his seat and the press scattering now that their questions had been answered. They had been initially sceptical about directing their questions about such important political matters towards such a young figure but it seemed that the boy had won them over as he had everyone else. He was finally drawn from his musing as the figure in question wound his way towards him coming to a stop before him as he rose from his chair with a warm smile firmly in place. The boy simply stared up at him for a moment with the expression on his face the Master had come to associate with his, 'knowing,' as the boy had insisted on calling it.

"Teach me," he said with certainty, "I will learn."

The Master smiled.

/

_Well there we go, please let me know what you thought._

_Beacoup d'amore, Rosanna._


	2. CONFIRMATION!(not a chap, :) sorry )

_Just to re-iterate that his story has been restarted! Thank you to all my reviewers who inspired me to start back up. As I said in at the beginning of the last chapter, as thanks I will take the first three prompts that are reviewed to me and use them in my next chapter which will be posted sometime in the next week or two, at which point I will replace this with a new chapter._

_Mucho Amor, Rosanna._


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